


After the Storm

by warchiefsteph



Category: Mass Effect Trilogy
Genre: F/M, Healing, Hurt/Comfort, as well as the relationships, i don't want y'all comin in thinking this is a shipfic right off the bat, i'll update the tags as the story continues on, it won't be a long fic by any means but it's a beginning to the next chapter of shepard's life
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-07-26
Updated: 2018-07-25
Packaged: 2019-06-16 11:07:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,358
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15435735
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/warchiefsteph/pseuds/warchiefsteph
Summary: Against all odds, Commander Cyann Shepard survived the Reaper threat, though separated from her crew and the love of her life. However, with the help of a search and rescue crew who dug her out of the rubble, will she find the Normandy again? Will she be able to call it quits and finally retire to the life she's been waiting for after years of fighting?





	After the Storm

      “ _Garrus!_ ”

      It took all her power to remain conscious, chest heaving with each ragged breath she took. Cyann Shepard could see nothing but the rubble that encased her, and the pain that permeated her body made it difficult to focus on anything else. Something was broken, or maybe everything; she could not pinpoint from where it was her pain stemmed, as it seemed to flare with every beat of her aching heart. Was she alive? Was she dead? She certainly hoped not, for if she was dead, she had a strong suspicion that she hadn’t arrived in heaven like she promised.

      She took another deep breath, agonizing pain clawing at her chest. There were at least a few broken ribs that she could tell, and her left arm was utterly useless, having been ripped from the socket in the collision. Using what strength she had, she pushed on the rock directly above her, stifling a scream as her right hand broke through to the surface. Sunlight streamed inward, blinding her momentarily. Good, she wasn’t too far below the wreckage, but she still couldn’t believe how she managed to survive. She should have been blown into a million pieces, scattered into stardust to eternally float the cosmos, but here she was, battered and beaten and barely kicking in a pile of wreckage.

      “ _Anyone?_ ” Her voice caught in her throat, surprised by how weak she sounded. Her throat was raw, likely from breathing in the dust around her, and it pained her to even say that. Nevertheless, she persisted. “Hello? Is there anybody out there?” She raised her arm as high as it would go, burnt armor giving way to bruised and bloody skin. It was getting harder to breathe the longer she was conscious, and she panicked slightly as her vision flickered. So, she survived the Reapers, but this is how she would die: crushed under the weight of her decisions, cold, in pain, and very much alone. Her vision began to swim, and she was vaguely aware that she was crying, tears rolling down her cheeks seamlessly. Her arm was still raised, hand shaking violently as she bit back a painful sob, and a vision of Garrus danced before her eyes, her chest tightening in longing.

      “Garrus….I’m  _sorry_ …”

      Her vision faltered and went black, but not before she heard a voice fast approaching, a gruff and concerned shout filling the air.

      “ _Over here! A survivor!_ ”

——–

      The struggle to consciousness was slow and agonizing. Every part of her body either ached or burned, and her limbs felt heavy and sluggish, as though drugged. Even her eyes could not open like she wanted, and Shepard contented herself to lay there, motionless, as the steady beat of a heart monitor stole her focus. The air smelled clean, sterile to a point, and the light that shined above her was pale and phosphorescent. She was in a facility of sorts, and an unfamiliar one at that, and it wasn’t until Shepard heard two, unfamiliar voices snapping back and forth to one another that she realized she was not alone.

      “Just let me see the human,” said one voice, low, persistent, and almost eager. “Maybe they’re someone I know, could be anybody.” The gruffness of a krogan was unmistakable; though her eyes remained shut, Shepard’s lips pursed. This couldn’t be a krogan vessel, could it?

      “Berus, please,” said a second voice, far gentler than the first, though alien as well. Turian, by the sound of it. “Not just any human could survive the wreckage we pulled them from, much less with the wounds they sustained. Humans are a lot squishier than you krogan are.”

      A displeased huff sounded from the krogan, Berus, and Shepard could hear heavy footsteps tromping away on tiled floor. “Whatever you say, Vyx,” they called, from farther away now. “But I wanna see them when they wake up.”

      “Shoo,” hissed Vyx, and by the sound of it, they activated a lock to prevent unwanted visits. “You’ll see them when they’re healed. Until then, I don’t want you so much as looking at the patient without supervision.” At the krogan’s displeased grunt, Shepard finally forced her eyes open, regretting it instantly the moment they made contact with the phosphorescent light above her. She groaned, finding her bearings, and slowly, she pushed herself up into a sitting position, scooting down the bed she laid on to dangle her feet over the edge. Her right leg was sore, the pain likely dulled by the medication she was on, but she didn’t want to think about how much it would hurt once it wore off. She’d had enough pain for a lifetime–she couldn’t wait until it was over.

      It took a few blinks for her eyes to adjust to the light, and even still, she wrinkled her nose at how immaculately white the room around her appeared. It was no doubt a med bay; the walls were lined with screens galore, many of which showed Shepard’s vitals, blood type, and healing, among other things. To her left and right were two beds each, though empty, and she became vaguely aware of an IV drip in her arm, which was probably the reason for her apparent sluggishness. Opposite the beds was a lengthy desk, cluttered with test tubes, datapads, and other random objects used for healing, and a small computer was placed neatly at the far edge of the table, near the door. A chair sat beside it, and in the chair was a turian, looking altogether exasperated, their hand resting on their brow, covering their eyes.

      “Where am I?” Shepard’s voice was still hoarse, her throat feeling raw. The turian looked up, mouth slightly agape in surprise that their patient had finally awakened.

      “Med Bay of the Starstrike,” they said, rising to their feet. With slow, graceful steps, they crossed the room in an instant, tilting their head as they fixed their eyes on Shepard’s face. She felt a bit sheepish at the sudden, and almost immediately, they began looking Shepard over, from passing the omni-tool over her to running their hands along problem spots. She said nothing, allowing this stranger to check her over as they needed to, far too exhausted to even protest.

      “I’m Vyx Nebulos, physician of this ship,” they continued, imputing data into their omni-tool. “How are you feeling? Dizzy, nauseous, pain?”

      “Pain, lots of it, but no dizziness. Or nausea,” Shepard replied, lips pouted slightly. “What the hell happened to me?”

      “I don’t know,” Vyx said, lowering their gaze to Shepard’s, reaching for their pocket. “I was hoping you could tell me.”

      From within their clothes, they pulled a long, silver chain, a military dog tag dangling on the end. They held it before Shepard, who reached for it tentatively, her aching arm protesting movement. Her fingers wrapped around the chain as she brought it toward her, and Vyx let it slip from their fingers, watching her with interest.

      “I found it on your person,” they murmured. “Whatever happened, it destroyed your name so much that I could only make out a ‘C’ and ‘Y’.”

      Shepard did not have time to speak. A heavy pounding on the door rattled the room, and through the glass, they could see the krogan trying to force their entry into the med bay. Vyx sighed, running their hand down their face, and they stepped toward the door to unlock it, as the glass threatened to break under the krogan’s might.

      “Yer such a spoilsport, Nebulos,” Berus said as they barreled their way in. Vyx did not even bother to stop them, instead putting their hands on their hips, leaning their weight on one leg as their unimpressed gaze narrowed, fixing on Berus’ back as the krogan was suddenly face-to-face with Shepard, inspecting her closely.

      “I apologize for the intrusion,” Vyx said, edging their way between Shepard and Berus, knocking back the krogan as best as they could. “This is Urdnot Berus, a warlord who thought her skills would be an asset to our search and rescue mission.” Vyx paused, as though the statement itself was odd enough, but said nothing more on it. “She was the one who found you in the rubble.”

      “Yeah, and ol’ Nebulos here,” she began, elbowing the turian in the ribs, provoking a hiss as their mandibles flicked in displeasure, “didn’t think ya were gonna survive, but Urdnot Berus wasn’t gonna let ya go. She’s a bit of a buzzkill, if ya ask me.”

      Vyx rolled her eyes, shoving Berus out of the way to continue her inspection of Shepard. “Hardly,” she replied. “Humans aren’t as hardy as you krogan are. For someone to survive wreckage as what we pulled her out of, well…” Vyx paused, giving Shepard a curious glance. “There’s more to you than meets the eye.”

      Shepard cast her gaze to the ground as Berus laughed, slapping a hand to her shoulder. Try as she might, she could not hold in a pained yelp, and Vyx glared at the krogan, shooing Berus away from her patient. Her body burned, and while Shepard reached to clutch her shoulder, Vyx sighed, procuring a syringe with a clear liquid within. There wasn’t a moment’s hesitation between sterilizing the crook of Shepard’s arm and injecting the clear serum; it stung like a bitch, but almost instantly, the pain subsided, pulling a sigh of relief from Shepard’s lips.

      “Ah, shit, sorry,” Berus mumbled sheepishly from her spot across the room. Shepard turned her weary gaze to her, and she nodded, though Berus pointedly avoided her gaze. “Got a little carried away, I s'pose.”

      “Heh, don’t worry about it,” she grunted, nose wrinked. “I’ve had worse.” And it was true, Shepard had had it worse. After all, she had to be completely remade after literally dying, and even then, the shit she went through after was enough to make anyone’s head spin. Of course, that wasn’t to say surviving the collapse of the Citadel into earth wasn’t bad–she just didn’t feel like revealing exactly who she was, not yet.

      Not ever again.

      Vyx eyed her curiously, bright red eyes glimmering in interest. “I don’t have any record of you in Alliance systems, which is odd, considering you wore their insignia.” She turned to her omni-tool, scanning Shepard once more, and shook her head after it came up with nothing. “What’s your name?”

      Something in the turian’s eyes told Shepard she knew more than what she was letting on, and whether or not she knew exactly who Shepard was nibbled at her thoughts. Still, Vyx did not press her further, lifting Shepard’s left arm, testing the shoulder. While the medication worked wonders for the pain, it still did not stop the deep set ache within. She winced, and Vyx noted it, before moving to face her directly, testing her eyes.

      “Vakarian,” she said, without really thinking. Vyx glanced at her, and Shepard swore she saw her mandibles flair in a sort of grin. “Uh…Cyann Vakarian.”

      Vyx made a note of the name, and returned her attention back to Shepard, offering a hand to the still-aching Commander. Though slightly off-put, Shepard gladly accepted her assistance, and rose shakily to her feet, muscles protesting at every move she made. It felt as though she had been blasted apart and pieced back together again, and as she took a tentative step toward Vyx, her knees buckled and she very nearly toppled over. Luckily, she was caught by surprisingly gentle hands, and Shepard found herself nearly doubled over, panting heavily as a thin layer of sweat began to bead at her brow. Shit, how was she going to manage her daily routines, let alone finding her crew without the Alliance catching wind of her?

      “What the hell happened to me?” she hissed through gritted teeth, eyes squeezed shut tightly. Vyx helped her sit again, before she searched for a crutch to aid in Shepard’s mobility. “What was the damage?”

      Vyx chewed her tongue, handing the crutch off, her gaze distant. She leaned casually on the bed beside Shepard’s, searching for the correct words. “A lot.” Shepard didn’t like the tone of her voice, but remained silent, and Vyx folded her arms, fingers tapping against her upper arm.

      “Fractured ribs, dislocated shoulder. Your femur nearly broke clean in two, but whatever stuff you have running in your blood heals you extraordinarily quickly. I wouldn’t put too much weight on that leg yet, but at this point in any other human, you should still be keeping off it altogether. Amazing.”

      Red eyes fixed again on Shepard, though not directly eye to eye. They seemed to flit across her face; from above her right brow, to her jawline on either side. Even up to her cheeks, but never to her eyes. Tentatively, she brushed her own hand across her face, eyes widening when she felt deep crevices at the base of her jaw.

      “There’s also….heavy facial scarring,” Vyx admitted. “I’ve tried to heal it, but it doesn’t seem to want to budge.”

      Shepard knew it was because of the implants; destroying the Reapers as she did had to have some adverse effect on her, and if it was the facial scarring she was thinking it was, she could probably deal with that. Still, she looked at Vyx curiously, and she had already procured a mirror for her to look into.

      “Here you go, Commander,” she said, handing the glass to Shepard. She took pause, steeling herself before raising it, but the image that looked back at her was still recognizable. The scars glowed a faint orange-yellow, cutting deep lines across her jaw, up her cheeks, and even above her brow, exactly where Vyx had inspected earlier. Her eyes, though still mostly brown, had the same, faint glow about them, but all in all, the disfigurement wasn’t anything she wasn’t used to. Just a bit more prominent. However, as she lowered the glass, she looked suddenly at Vyx with an expression of concerned confusion, and the turian gazed on smugly, tilting her head as if to ask Shepard, ‘yes?’

      “What did you call me?”

 

 


End file.
